


Oathkeeper

by UlsPi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Health Issues, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Therapy, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Jaime meets Brienne in his therapist's office. He shouldn't make a habit of it, he shouldn't pursue a relationship with her, but he can't help it.A warning: in this fic Brienne is trans/non binary.  Whatever it is between her legs, it's never discussed in detail. Please, be kind to Brienne and to me. If the thought is hateful to you, don't read and definitely don't comment.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 49
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid I need to reiterate. If there's something hateful you want to tell me about a trans woman, I don't want to hear it. I will delete transphobic comments. If you want to leave one, please think better. There's enough space for everyone.

Jaime closes the door of Dr Tyrell's office behind him and hums in satisfaction. 

It's been paying off well, those sessions. He stopped having nightmares, he doesn't hate himself as much as he has used to, he feels better when he's out in town, buying coffee or choosing his clothes. 

Cersei would have approved of his tight chinos, but more importantly, Jaime didn't think of it when he bought those trousers. He bought them because they were comfortable and because he liked the way the fabric touched his skin. 

It was something new, just like the feeling of the sun on his skin feels new, doesn't burn or scare him, doesn't make him panic…

He's liberated and still young, relatively, and he can…

Jaime opens his eyes.

He doesn't know when he closed them, but now, as if faced with the setting for the first time, he thinks that while Dr Tyrell's office looks personal, with all those books and knick-knacks - Jaime doesn't like reading, he  _ can't  _ read the way his father has always expected him to be able to, but he does appreciate the way that the old books make a place look, he likes the smell - 

her reception room looks too bright and plastic, generic despite the portraits of Freud with a dick in his teeth instead of a cigar. 

There's a… person waiting for their turn, and it's the first person Jaime sees here since he's started his therapy. 

Jaime can't say if it's a man or a woman or neither. They are tall, it shows even when they are sitting; they have middle-length blond hair that would look alright both on a man and on a woman; they look scared and unsure; they are flat-chested, they have  _ very  _ handsome muscles - Jaime has never been afraid of admitting that he likes a well built  _ person _ . Everyone else might disapprove as much as they like, but Jaime has never been ashamed, no, he's proud and cocky. He's proud of being cocky too.

The person turns their head at the sound Jaime makes when he closes the door, and Jaime is stunned by the colour of their eyes - blue, sapphire blue, clear and honest and defiant. 

"Hello," Jaime says. "I believe she'll call you in in a moment." 

He can't resist those eyes, they are there and they demand truth and honesty. "Are you… I'm sorry I'm asking, but it's not like you're wearing any badges… I mean, what are your pronouns?"

"It's she/her," she replies. 

She blushes, it makes her skin look blotchy and awkward. All of her is blotchy and awkward, self-conscious and unsure, too big, and yet she doesn't hunch her shoulders. Unsure she might be, but she's so defiant Jaime feels challenged just looking at her.

"Ok. Thank you. I'm sure she'll call you in soon."

"Thank you." She blushes even more.

Jaime can't take his eyes off of her. She's wearing a white top and light blue jeans and very good, very practical boots. Jaime can't stop looking at her. 

"O… ok. So… have a good day."

He means to walk away, he should, but Dr Olenna Tyrell specialises in ex-military people with severe PTSD, and it makes Jaime feel a sort of camaraderie towards the… woman? She might use female pronouns, but does she identify as a woman? Anyway, she must be an ex-military too, and so Jaime's feelings are justified, and so he asks, against all the codes. "You… where did you serve?" He asks. Why he chooses the past tense, he can't say.

"Renly Baratheon's division," she replies and blushes to the point of being a bit like a beetroot.

Jaime knows that division. Incredible fighters, they are, but just like commander Baratheon, too naive, too honest.

As far as Jaime knows, Commander Baratheon was murdered on duty. An assassin, they say, as if it were a James Bond movie. 

Jaime remembers that there are only two people alive who witnessed Renly's death - his civil partner Loras Tyrell (Jaime hopes it's a coincidence) and his second-in-command, Brienne Tarth. 

"Brienne Tarth?" Jaime asks. It's wrong, it's so wrong, but he never cared about it, and he can't make himself remember anything he's learned and understood during his therapy, when he's faced with those blue eyes. 

"Yes," she looks down at her Doc Martens.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm Jaime Lannister." He offers her a hand and she shakes it like a lady - as if Jaime had any idea about  _ ladies.  _

She gasps but doesn't let go, doesn't recoil in disgust. 

"What you did was right," she says quietly. "It must have been hard, and I hate to think what you've been through, but… it was right."

Olenna calls her in at that moment and she stands up. She's taller than Jaime, muscular, strong; every line of her body screams that she's stubborn and unyielding. She's not the one to be persuaded to do something she doesn't believe in. 

"Good day," she says and walks inside Olenna's office. 

Before the door is closed, Olenna sticks her head out - her old, wisened head - and says: "Don't flirt with patients."

Then the door is closed. 

Jaime's been trained to keep his guard and to guard other people. He stood his guard when his commander, Aerys Targaryen raped his wife, a general in her own right.

He stood his guard when general Targaryen tortured his prisoners. 

He couldn't stand his guard when that old fuck thought it alright to torture a child. Jaime disobeyed and murdered him then. He stood trial, he was quietly discharged, his pension is generous, he has to keep his silence. He has to help the army cover up for tolerating a war criminal for as long as his crimes served a purpose. 

Jaime winces. 

He walks out of the building and thinks what brings him joy, brings him pleasure. 

It's coffee from a nearby coffeeshop. It's his chinos. 

It's the warmth of his sister's embrace - not at all sisterly.  _ Read Fromm. There's nothing  _ _ sinful _ _ about your affair, but you have never let yourself leave your family, and they didn't let you.  _ Dr Tyrell's words echo in Jaime's head as he makes his way to the coffeeshop, makes his order, drinks his latte. 

Cersei would have mocked him for favouring a sweet drink without any bite, but Jaime likes it. He tries to enjoy what he has. 

He doesn't have much, not like he used to have, being a rich boy, an heir to one of the most powerful men in the country.

A lover of the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Who happened to be his twin sister but who cares…

Jaime stops and sips at his drink. 

He does care, he so fucking cares. He has three children with his own fucking sister who will never let him be a father to them. He has a life with his twin sister who hates his brother, whom Jaime loves. 

He takes another sip. He can still be happy. He can… he can feel the way he wants to feel. He's still young, strong, with a good pension and a trust fund, he can do what he likes. He's lucky and privileged. He can afford enjoying his latte and the weather… 

And he can walk in a boutique and buy some unnecessary trinket. 

He can live in New York, he can be obnoxious. He hasn't lost that much. 

He pushes through the crowd, he drinks his coffee, he tries to concentrate on something pleasant, something  _ good. _

All he can think about is those blue eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Jaime loses his hand as a result of severe selfharm. Please stay safe.

"Why did you tell me not to flirt with patients? I thought we agreed I needed a taste of a healthy relationship." Jaime usually isn't particularly cocky with Olenna, because Olenna tends to match his cockiness with the level of sass that Jaime hasn't encountered in his life, but Jaime doesn't do well with being refused something. 

"There's a time and a place for everything, Jaime. That's the point we have discussed as well, haven't we? Are you seriously suggesting that you can't understand why a therapist's office is a bad place to start a romantic relationship?"

"Stranger things happen," Jaime shrugs.

"Indeed. The amount of strange things that happens to my patients is such that they become my patients." Olenna shrugs as well. "When you were referred to me and actually showed up - the act that I still applaud - you told me in no uncertain terms that what mattered to you, the  _ only  _ thing that mattered to you was your sister. Interestingly, you immediately corrected yourself and said that it was the love you two had for each other. And then you corrected yourself again and said that your love for her was what kept you alive."

"I don't see the point of this trip down the memory lane." Jaime moves in his chair, obviously uncomfortable.

"The point is that I'm trying to make you see what a long way you've come, but there'll be no end to it, I'm afraid. Don't ruin your own hard work by hitting on a fellow patient. Do you think you'd want it for yourself, when you came to me? Do you think that you'd want to think of a stranger flirting with you when you're barely lucid and fighting off a panic attack?"

"I didn't flirt," Jaime grunts. 

"You did, we both know it."

"I'm an arse."

Olenna shook her head. "No, Jaime, you're not. Learning how to deal with a rejection, with not getting what you want is a part of what you're doing here. What you're striving for. You told me you wanted to be honest…"

"When Cersei told me she didn't want me anymore."

"Yes. You said you'd deal with your trauma and you'd be honest, so she'd take you back. Regardless of your motivations, it's a noble quest. The right one."

"She won't take me back, though. The way I am now… Fuck, why did I show up? Why? I'm not even sure if I want her to take me back… She despises me like this…"

"She despises you because you're getting healthier?"

"Yes. And she despises me unhealthy as well… During the trial, when I… I… some years ago, a neighbour's boy caught us having sex. Admittedly, we were shagging in the gazebo on his property… We were visiting the neighbours that day, all the family, my father and Tyrion and Cersei's kids and husband… He climbed the ivy on the gazebo and saw us. He was so shocked, so scared… Cersei kept yelling that he saw us. I climbed up to him and pushed him off the roof. He survived. Doesn't remember a thing about that day. He's paraplegic… So when… during the trial, I kept staring at my hand, the hand that killed that old fuck and pushed a child off the roof…" 

There's a pause.

"So you took your hand off," Olenna says. "Took you just eleven meetings to address it. I'm proud of you."

"I just told you I almost killed a boy!"

"And then broke through a wall in your cell, pulled out a pipe and cut off your hand. I'm not here to punish you, to judge, but the truth is most people punish themselves just fine. You live with it. With what you've done. With the best prosthetic that money can buy, trying to get better. Did your father settle the things with the family of the boy or did you?"

"They are the Starks. We could  _ settle  _ each other for ages. But the boy is a naughty mischief, still is, and the parents immediately decided it was an accident… I thought I was protecting us… our love, our… doomed, star-crossed love that nothing should stand in the way of. How… how very teenage of me! And I was thirty two."

"And now you're in therapy, hitting on fellow patients but otherwise doing incredibly well." Olenna looks… fond almost.

"Do you think… do you think… what do you think of my sister?"

"That she manipulated and abused you. That you and your siblings had a lonely childhood, devoid of love and affection. That when you had a choice, you and your brother became decent people… Yes, Jaime, you are a decent person. Your sister made a different choice. She chose to try and be your father, a man who hasn't tried to deal with his grief having lost his wife, who distanced himself from his children, because… he feels too much. He  _ chose  _ to feel less. You spoke about star-crossed love, you're a romantic, but so is your father. He just deals with it differently. It doesn't mean you have to forgive him. After all, he's made a choice, and his motivation is irrelevant to your struggle. But you definitely can be smug about it," Olenna smiled. "What attracted you to Brienne?"

"Oh, we're going to talk about her?" Jaime sneered.

"Well, you made a move. You liked someone and you didn't run away from it. It's only the setting that's wrong. Your attraction to her isn't."

"Her eyes. She's… defiant. Challenging. I can't stop thinking about her, because there's something so… right about the way she holds herself. She's ugly, she must have been made fun of her entire life, and yet she's so defiant. Honest, honourable."

"Everything you aspire to be," Olenna said.

"And without an incestuous relationship or almost killing children."

"You told me that your turning point with the general was a child being tortured."

"That's what I was becoming," Jaime whispered. "Caring for nothing, no one, but… love. The love I'm not sure was worth having… oh look, a Freudian slip."

"There's a reason I have those pictures in the reception room, but let your subconscious do your grammar. Or it's just a slip of a tongue and didn't mean anything."

"So he can suck cock?"

"Not many can suck cock that well. Least of all, Freud. Do you see anything wrong with sucking a cock?"

"I don't. My father… not so sure. My sister thinks it's ok only if she does it. No man on man action, oh no. Fewer people for her to seduce. She has just half the population to seduce, so she's easily rattled."

"I don't think a seducer cares for such calamities as sexual orientation."

"She always says she wishes she were a man, but she hates trans people as well."

"Maybe she's afraid to admit it to herself that she admires their courage."

"She thinks she's the ultimate queer, I guess." Jaime looked aside. "To her, love is a sin… has to be sin. So everyone's love is a sin to be punished, but hers…"

"Reminds you of anyone?"

"My father."

"Precisely. She realised very soon and very well that being… emotional is something her father forbids, so she forbade it to herself. Doesn't mean she stopped craving it. Personally, I believe we're all miserable, for all sorts of reasons. It's just the choice that we make about it that matters in the end. An impressionable young child who lost a mother made that choice, with a good reason too. Her only remaining parent gave her that example."

***

Jaime buys himself a latte and enjoys the weather. He wants to cry, too, but he's not that healthy that he can allow himself to sob in the middle of the street. Time and place after all. Time and place. 

So he almost runs to his apartment, the apartment his father bought him, and cries there.

He weeps for himself, of course, for his sister and brother, for his parents, for his entire fucking life, for Bran Stark, for his children who are his nephews. Everything is unfair and stupid. Everything is endlessly cruel, everything is just trying to hide one cruelty with another. 

Tyrion tends to send him funny memes at the most inappropriate moments, and it always helps, so Jaime isn't surprised when his phone vibrates and Jaime sees a message from his brother. His witty, smart, clever brother, hated by Cersei and, as Tyrion thinks, by his father too, but Jaime is sure that Tywin's aggressive care for Tyrion is the only way the old man still knows how to love. It's unjust, but Jaime sees his father's reasons… He wonders if Tyrion does too.

Since Facebook stalks him and not him alone, the moment Jaime stops crying over his life and laughing over a kitten, the damn thing asks if he knows Brienne Tarth and wants to be friends with her. 

Jaime curses. Technically, Facebook is not a place or a time…

He opens Brienne's profile. There are pictures of plant pots, sturdy and reliable, just like Brienne - and he has just compared Brienne to a plant pot, alright, he needs to sleep. And a hobby. 

Everything he can think of is Brienne and plant pots, so he googles pottery workshops and pays for one. 

There is a strong temptation to call Tyrion and invite him to get stupidly drunk together, but Jaime resists. He has pottery to think of. And Brienne.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaime drops into the chair dramatically, provoking a raised brow on Olenna's very, very clever face. Jaime likes her so much! There's a soft, sweet fondness swelling up in his chest. There's no pain to it, no yearning, no wishing for something else. He's really glad that Olenna is his therapist. 

"Of all the pottery workshops in town, I had to walk into hers," Jaime begins. He's rehearsed that line. Olenna knows it and raises both eyebrows.

***

It was a very fancy affair, that _workshop_ , run by an elegant woman by the name of Marg Tyrell. Jaime had never thought that the surname was _so_ common. 

Marg was fiery and she smiled too much, and Jaime had a feeling she didn't know or care much about pottery, and neither did anyone in the room, except for a tall woman in simple clothes and polished Doc Martens. 

Brienne sat there, concentrated on her work, crafting a… a flower pot of course, but a very big one. Her movements were unsure, but she was fully concentrated on the blasted pot. 

"Stay out!" Marg said to him. Her face was all charm and warmth but she seemed to be boiling with protective anger. 

"I… what? What the fuck?" Jaime asked. His own monster of a pot slipped out of his hands and kept spinning. 

"Brienne is a friend, family. I don't care what you think about her and what you want to say, but say make one sardonic remark, and I'll have tossed out."

Jaime looked around. The people here were… fancy. The kind Cersei would like to hang out with, while _supporting_ her drunkard of a husband who somehow remained in the Senate. 

"Ok… ok, I don't get it, any of it. I just wanted a hobby, and this is obviously not a place to learn pottery." He stood up, wiping his hands on his less favourite chinos. 

"Fuck! I thought your sister sent you or something…" Marg apologised without apologising. 

"I haven't seen my sister in quite some time," Jaime said through his teeth. 

"Good for you. I sincerely hope Loras gets elected next year instead of your brother-in-law, hence all this… effort." She gestured around the room.

"Loras? Tyrell? Are you related to Dr Tyrell?"

"She's our grandmother… oh, I see. She's your therapist!" 

"And Brienne's… I swear I didn't know!" Jaime moved to leave, but then Brienne approached Marg, blushing, her hands dirty. 

"Marg, I'm grateful, and I know father paid for it, but I can't. They all stare." 

"Of course, darling. Jaime here was just leaving… why don't you put all these rich cunts to shame and leave together? Quite a few hearts and pots will be broken." Marg winked at Jaime. 

"I want my pot," Brienne said stubbornly. 

"It has to dry, Brienne. Come pick it up tomorrow."

"Ok. If you promise I won't have to endure. This," Brienne jutted her chin. 

Jaime couldn't take his eyes off of her - she was burning bright, burning blue, defiant, so defiant, so unashamedly herself. 

"I swear!" Marg raised her voice. "Off you go, lovebirds! I should be a matchmaker!"

Jaime couldn't help a snort. Brienne looked horrified. 

Once outside, Brienne looked at Jaime with suspicion. "What were you doing there?"

"Oh, turns out New York is very small, when Google knows you're the golden boy…" Jaime rubbed his face. "I just wanted a hobby."

"I see. Not the best place for one." 

They stood next to each other side by side and looked up at the sky, no stars but a lot of neon. 

"Everyone knows everyone. It's a fucking telenovela!" Jaime complained. "Our therapist is the grandmother of Loras Tyrell, your served under Renly, I'm the golden boy…"

"You mentioned," Brienne interrupted him drily. 

"Look, look, I don't belong there."

"Why, you do. I don't belong there for sure, but my father supports Loras and Marg is a friend."

Jaime closed his eyes and tried to think. Tarth… Selwyn Tarth, a spectacular attorney, civil rights activist, the man who had won more cases for the LGBTQIA community than anyone else, the man who referred to his, as it turns out, daughter as a _child_ , when enquired about his family in the interviews. A widower, just like Tywin, but not bitter, not cruel, no. Selwyn was a kind and caring man who wouldn't out his daughter for publicity or to get him more fame and queer clients. 

"Selwyn Tarth… He's your father." Jaime sighed.

"Fucking telenovela!" Brienne cursed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?" She offered. 

"Make it two," Jaime pulled out two cigarettes, put one behind his ear and leaned inevitably up to Brienne for fire, and wasn't it a Freudian slip indeed? 

He stuck his cigarette into the flame alongside Brienne's. They exhaled loudly and with relief. 

"A drink? Two seasoned warriors that we are should share a drink, not a therapist." Jaime offered.

***

"So you went for a drink?" Olenna asks.

"We did. Was good. Was great. She doesn't have a sense of humour to speak of, but she's so clever! Idealistic and…"

"You're smitten."

"She's quite a warrior, she could smite me any moment, and I'd welcome it… oh, to be squeezed between her thighs as she's riding me…"

"I don't know if it's ethical… you're objectifying a patient of mine."

"I'm not objectifying, I'm smitten. Tell me, how come her mousy hair is so dear to me? How come her crooked nose is a thing of beauty? And when she smiles - I had to work hard to make her smile - it's… incandescent."

"Look who's a poet now."

"Look, the time and place were ok. Should I change therapists?"

"It's your decision, Jaime. I'm just worried about losing two patients and adding a couple who still pays for one," Olenna snorted. 

"You're being unethical!"

"I'm happy for you. You went out, tried some pottery…" Olenna snorted again but couldn't suppress it anymore. Both she and Jaime burst out laughing.

***

They were sitting in a booth, nursing their non-alcoholic drinks.

"Do you know who did it?" Jaime asked.

"There are rumours it's Stannis. I'm not supposed to know, I retired. They bought my silence as well as yours." Brienne frowned. "That's not why I enlisted. Why I trained and fought."

"Tell me about it!.. Stannis? His own fucking brother?"

"He's a raging homophobe," Brienne shrugged. "Couldn't stand that the army allowed his _pervert_ of a brother to serve and to do so alongside Loras. They say it must have been a… faulty report. Some mistake here or there, misinformation, and Stannis is _a man of honour._ "

"Don't spit into your virgin sangria, it's quite good," Jaime warned.

"Stannis is shit. I shouldn't have resigned! I let them win!" Brienne looked at Jaime, those stunning eyes looking at him, searching for a justification or indignation.

"Hey, we did what we could, ok? I went there just as… stupid as you are."

"Thank you." Brienne looked away, calm, unreadable, used to being insulted.

"Hey, hey. I was supposed to go to Harvard or Columbia or Georgetown, work with my father, inherit his riches and company… Instead I went to the army. Wrote a letter that I swear to have no connection with my father's business. Look at me now."

"He hired you the best attorneys." 

"He did! And bought me a flat and a car and gave me money. Yeah. My dad shows his love in money. Measures it in money. Unless it's Tyrion. Then his love language is being an arse."

"Fuck!" Brienne downed her drink. 

"If you want."

"Shut up! What's wrong with you!? We've just met, you don't know what's between my legs…"

"None of my business. Your legs are fantastic all by themselves."

"No, Jaime, I'm ugly but I'm not easy."

***

"That's my girl!" Olenna whispers proudly. "Sorry. Unethical. You were saying?"

***

"Ok, let's talk about something else. Safe."

"Other than revealing secret information in a bar?" Brienne smirked. 

"Hobbies! I'm looking for a hobby!"

Brienne sighed and gestured for another virgin sangria. 

"I tried knitting and embroidery," she confessed. "My hands are too big."

"That's bullshit. It's about your fine motor skills, not the size of your hands!" Jaime argued. He still had some clay in his prosthetic, which meant it wouldn't work properly. 

"Tried drawing. My hands are too big…" She lowered her head. Jaime wanted to scoop her up and into his arms. He'd be crushed to death but it would be so fucking glorious! 

"You've met some very shitty teachers, you know? I understand your father won't wipe them out of the face of the earth, but my own father might do it." Jaime offered it like a courting gift. 

"Your father is a corupt old fuck. No offense."

"None taken. He's not the worst old fuck one could meet."

Brienne blushed and just nodded. "I'm sorry."

They kept walking after they left the bar. A bookshop, a toy store… Jaime got himself a stuffed whale and told Brienne he was going to name it Brienne. 

"I don't know if it's an insult or a compliment," Brienne said.

"You're rare, endangered, so fucking big and have so fucking blue eyes. It's a compliment." Jaime waved Brienne the whale in front of Brienne the shieldmaiden.

Fifth avenue was there for Jaime's whims, and he wanted to indulge himself and show off, so he tugged Brienne to Tiffany's.

"You wear jewelry?" Jaime asked.

"I don't. I don't wear jewelry. Or skirts. Or dresses. Hate them." 

"Ok, let's scandalise those pompous fucks!" Jaime leaned into Brienne's personal space and whispered something to her. She giggled and nodded. 

The pompous fucks looked at them with animosity and suspicion. 

Brienne walked up to one of the clerks, erect, proud, undefeatable. "Good evening," she said. Her voice was deep, overtly polite and she looked a menace. Jaime wanted to have her right there, on the jewels. "My fiance and I are looking for a necklace. It's for him, but he wants me to choose, so what would you suggest?"

The clerk looked as if he could smell shit in the air. He stared at them for a long moment. "This is Tiffany's. Our necklaces are expensive."

"No way," Brienne deadpanned. "See, he's Jaime Lannister, and he's paying. Or you want his father here?"

The clerk paled. "I don't believe you. Fuck off before I call the security."

Jaime yawned like a sated lion. "Please, call the security, we're kinky that way." He winked at Brienne. 

The clerk waved at the security. The guard came, looked at Jaime and Brienne and paled too. 

"Brienne," he breathed and hugged her. "Fuck."

"Sandor," Brienne greeted awkwardly.

The clerk paled even more. 

"Still can't forget how you beat me and handed me my own arse with a bowtie." The man, Sandor, bigger than Brienne and twice as menacing, glared at the clerk.

"Show them some damn jewelry, you fuck," Sandor grunted. 

"You beat… Sandor Clegane?" Jaime asked when Sandor walked away. 

"Yes. In training. Nothing unbecoming." Brienne blushed harder. 

"What… what did you have in mind?" The clerk asked.

Jaime left with a velvet collar with several diamond pendants.

***

"You like it?" Jaime unwraps his scarf to show off. 

"Yes, quite… something."

"That's the whole point, my good doctor! Can't walk around with diamonds but I'm not taking it off!"

"You want Brienne to own you?"

"No! I want to have… something that reminds me of her."

***

Jaime wanted to buy something for Brienne, a watch maybe, something practical - well, as practical as they had it at Tiffany's.

Brienne shook her head. 

"Did your father buy you a flat?" Jaime asked once they were outside. 

"No, why? Whatever for? I live with him until I… figure it all out. I liked pottery. Should find someone better than Marg, though." She tried to hide her chuckle - and why would she do that.

"If you need a couch to crash on, mine is available," Jaime offered. 

"I'll keep it in mind," Brienne replied in the tone of voice that made it clear that she wouldn't keep it in mind. 

"Sorry. Dinner?"

***

"She refused dinner. But she said we could meet again," Jaime says dreamily. "Got her number. Been sending her some pictures of kittens, puppies and flower pots. Perhaps some fancy swords too. The pictures, not the swords themselves…"

"Oh dear," Olenna says. "You do have it bad."

"The worst!" Jaime replies. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and emotional

Jaime is sitting on the floor of his apartment, sniffling and rubbing his eyes - he's cried so much, it stings. Tyrion is by his side, custom made suit and all, and is frantically searching on his phone for more kittens to cheer his brother up.

"You're alright, Jaime, you're doing great," Tyrion says, giving up on kittens and holding Jaime's hand. "It's ok."

Jaime lets out another sob. "I'm a fucking disgrace! Fucking…"

Tyrion rubs his back. He's a witty man, clever and good with words, but he doesn't know what to say at the moment. 

"Jaime… you just shut up!"

***

Brienne called Jaime and suggested boxing as a hobby. The other option was archery. 

They hadn't seen each other since their outing after a pottery class, but Jaime tried to keep in touch, and Brienne always replied. 

And then she called. 

They went boxing. Brienne kicked his arse, metaphorically at least, and Jaime discovered that he was turned on by a sweaty Brienne who panted and wiped her nose with the back of her glove, as she offered the other hand to Jaime. 

So they started boxing and decided to keep archery as a last resort. 

Twice a week they'd meet by the gym that Sandor had suggested, and box. Brienne was good and Jaime was getting there. Brienne was patient with him. 

She had trained since she was a young child, box and krav maga mostly, with occasional ventures into fencing, but box remained her favourite. There was a beautiful, serene expression on her face when she punched the pear ball - no anger, no frustration, just that focus and defiance. She grunted and winced sometimes, but she remained… herself. 

Jaime wanted just to look at her, for the rest of his accursed days. 

***

"I need to tell Brienne about Bran," Jaime admitted to Olenna.

"Why?"

"Because I want to be honest, and fuck, she deserves honesty! Admiration and…"

"Brienne is still a human. You shouldn't make a marble idol off her," Olenna said softly. "Even if you find her perfect, don't turn your feelings into those of worship. No one wants that."

"Cersei does."

"And she's far from perfect. For you, Cersei is a disease, which you've been ignoring and have started to fight only recently. A bit unethical of me, to be sure, but I'm here to help you, and your sister, she doesn't want to help you."

"Put like this, simple and clear. And what about my life? Is all I've ever done a mistake?"

"No. You screw up, you make mistakes, you learn. Tell me, the man you are today, would he have pushed a child off the roof?"

"No!" Jaime choked on his answer. "No."

"Is he a happy child, that kid?"

"He is. Invents things, keeps climbing. Unstoppable. Shoulders to die for." Jaime chuckled. 

"It's not something you will ever get over fully, but… it's just one of the many things you need to live with. I can't tell you whether you should or shouldn't tell Brienne about that boy. You should decide it for yourself."

"You're no help."

***

There were two questions Jaime wanted to ask Brienne, and he got ready for this by punching quite a lot of pear bags and refusing to spar with Brienne. 

He took her to a small Italian place he knew she liked. A table had been booked and candles were lit. 

"This is awfully romantic," Brienne said with suspicion. 

"You think? Good!" 

"Don't know. You're tense. What's wrong, Jaime, out with it."

Jaime took her in - that straw hair, those blue eyes and broad shoulders. He felt warm and safe and seen… And he needed to let Brienne see all of him and make a decision. 

"So… there are two… things I want to ask you. Unfortunately, I'll have to start with the bad one."

Brienne's face looked resigned. What stupid shit was she thinking? Jaime so needed to punch every fucking arsehole in Brienne's life… and himself too. 

"A few years ago I was fucking my sister in the gazebo at our neighbours'. Their little boy climbed up to the roof and saw us. Cersei… No, I did it myself. I climbed to him and pushed him off the roof. I told myself I had to protect Cersei. The boy lives. He's a paraplegic." Jaime said it all in one breath and stared at Brienne. She stared back.

"I take it… you're not exactly… boasting about it," she finally said.

"No. I can't… I don't know how I could have done such a thing." He swallowed. 

"That's the first thing. What's the second then?" She looked at him, waitingly. 

"I want us to date. If you'll have me. If… you can… I don't know, consider dating me." 

"Hm," Brienne replied. Her food remained untouched, she kept looking at Jaime, her hands clasped in front of her mouth. 

"You know, Jaime, both you and I have seen quite a lot of… shit in this world. Do you think that what you told me can make it to the top ten of the stories I had to hear from the people I served with? You had an affair with your sister. A consensual affair, as I understand. Your sister is a politician's wife and you panicked. You're not a monster, Jaime. You acted badly, terribly, monstrously. But you're no monster… I'm very angry at you right now, and the only reason I haven't punched you is because my wrist hurts." She closed her eyes to take a deep breath. "I like you. There's… something kind and soft within you that I feel attracted to. Knew it the moment we met. So… I will date you, if you don't fuck anyone else while we're together, if that's ok with you, and don't toss anymore boys off high places."

"I… I won't fuck anyone else while we're together. And I won't toss anyone ever again."

"Well, not anyone. Just don't toss kids." Brienne sat back. "I'm still angry with you, so you're paying. And we're making an appointment with Olenna as a couple."

***

"So why the fuck are you crying?" Tyrion asks after a few more hours of crying. "Is it just because you're overwhelmed?"

"I'm a monster. She agreed to date me. What have I done to her already that she accepted me?" 

"I don't know. Shagged her senseless?" 

"No, I didn't. Haven't kissed her even. She's never dated. Everyone always mocked her." Jaime starts crying again. 

"It's a pity, because I can't call your brand new girlfriend and ask her to take care of this mess… she's brand new after all… You can bring her to meet the family!"

"So that she hates me for sure? So she sees Cersei and…"

"I don't know. She could punch father. And Cersei. And Robert. Oh please…"

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's ableist and queerphobic language here. It's punished on sight, but it's there.

Jaime has never dated. The only romantic relationship he's known is the one he had with his twin sister, and although she isn't easy to please, the courting of Cersei Lannister would be easy for anyone who's ever read an issue of Cosmopolitan. Cersei is very conventional about the gifts and behaviour. Jaime used to open the doors for her, bring her expensive gifts when he could afford it, and when he couldn't, once he joined the army, he made sure to bring her unfailingly beautiful things from the places where he was stationed. 

She once asked him whether he had ever looted. Jaime was horrified by the suspicion, but Cersei just laughed and said she'd love the taste of yet another forbidden thing. "Nothing matters, Jaime, only us. What is sin, what is tradition when he have each other? Born together, we belong together!" Cersei tends to get poetic like this when she wants to be persuasive, which she almost always does. Any logic, however flawed, sounds well, Jaime thinks, when coming from the lips of a beautiful woman.

But damn them memories! Jaime shakes his head. He has told Brienne that it's up to her to decide where they go for their dates. "Once I learn what you like, I'd be able to surprise you," he winks at her. 

"You know what I like. And I hate surprises." Brienne hunches her broad, strong shoulders. 

It's summer and it's scorchingly hot, and Brienne is wearing her usual washed out jeans - and a white tank top which accentuates those wicked, impossible shoulders, and her flat chest and, oh lords, a slight swell of her belly which goes taut and… and deadly when she works out or boxes. 

So these are their dates so far. 

Their first was at the zoo. Not just a tour, no, volunteering and shoveling elephant shit. Afterwards they went to have lunch at the zoo cafeteria. Jaime, exhausted and ravenous, praised the generic sandwich as if it had been eating in a five-star restaurant. Then they walked in a park, challenged each other about who could do more push-ups. It was Brienne. Jaime spent the night doing push ups.

Their second date was at the Met. Jaime hasn't ever liked museums, he still doesn't, but Brienne told him about each and every piece of art that drew her attention. She blushed and admitted that she had used to want a degree in art history, but had eventually decided against it. 

Jaime can't remember a single thing about that date but the way Brienne's freckled face lit up when she explained Pollock to him. 

By that point he had decided that Brienne _had_ to meet his family, if only for the way she'd definitely wipe the floors with everyone. Tyrion agreed with his brother. 

***

During their first meeting with Olenna as a _couple_ Jaime couldn't take his eyes off of Brienne. 

"So, what would you like to achieve with our meetings?" Olenna asked. 

"I never dated," Brienne blushed. Jaime couldn't get enough of it. He needed her to blush more and wear more white tank tops although the blue one she was wearing at the moment was just as good. 

(And Brienne doesn't shave. Jaime realises that before Brienne he was quite unsure about female bodily hair. 

Now Jaime blushes himself when he catches a glimpse of downy hair in Brienne's armpits, soft and yellow and… he thinks he's a pervert. He'll have to discuss it with Olenna.)

"You never dated out of choice?" Olenna asked.

"You know the answer," Brienne replied. 

"I do. Does Jaime? Do you want him to know?"

Brienne looked at Jaime. 

"I do want to know," Jaime said softly. "You don't have to tell me, but…"

"You'll mock me!" Brienne exclaimed, looking everywhere but Jaime.

"Why would I?" He asked.

"Because it's stupid!.. Look, I went to the army because I… I loved the stories about knights and squires, Don Quixote is my favourite book."

Jaime gasped. (He has to marry her and get her all the editions of Don Quixote he can get his greedy hands on.)

"I'm dyslexic," he admitted. "Father always forced me to read, and I couldn't. I'd love it if you read it to me…"

Brienne finally looked at him. "I was in love with Renly… he knew, he turned me down gently, and I didn't know back then about him and Loras, but… ok, I wanted to still be his… squire. His knight."

"I bet you were," Jaime whispered. 

"She was," Olenna said with a tender smile. 

"And… I… I'm… I'm curious. And I like you," Brienne looked at Jaime with such defiance and honesty, that Jaime regretted he hadn't bought her a ring when they pranked Tiffany's.

"I like you too. So proud of you," Jaime whispered. 

"So," Olenna coughed. "What do you two want from me?"

"I feel safer when we talk with you in the room. For now. I… you know how I get when I'm… frustrated."

"Does Jaime?" Olenna nodded at Jaime who still had to glance at the therapist even once. 

"And we box… and I get… angry, really angry and I… don't want to hurt you. I could."

"Alright," Jaime nodded. "What… what triggers you?"

"Lack of communication, and I tend to never initiate communication," Brienne admitted. "Olenna could… could help me."

"Ok. So…" Jaime breathed in. "You tell me things… but you need to trust me first, right?"

"Yes," Brienne nodded, biting her lip.

"Thank you… for trying. For me, of all people."

"It's for myself, Jaime," Brienne retorted. "And… on the side… you're worth it. You've never said I'm ugly. And I know I _am_!"

"I think it's too early for me to tell you what I think," Jaime winked. 

***

For their next date Brienne took them to Strand, where they sat on the floor while Brienne read Don Quixote to Jaime. He managed to remember something. 

***

"Why do you want Brienne to meet your parents?" Olenna asks during their couple session. 

"Because I'm serious, and because Brienne can knock them off dead, metaphorically and literally." Jaime giggles - and gazes at Brienne.

"So, you're like, using me?" Brienne asks.

"No! No!" Jaime protests. Too much.

"Your family are queerphobic, Jaime. You're subjecting Brienne to quite a lot of hate speech." Olenna wiggles her eyebrows, for some reason. 

Jaime immediately learns the reason because Brienne is indeed furious, his impossible shieldmaiden. 

"I've handled enough hate speech. It's the normal speech I don't know what to do with." She turns to Jaime. "I will knock them out, verbally, and I will be… insulting."

"Oh, Brienne, please. I mean, I want them to meet you because you're… you're important to me. And I want them to see that I'm doing so well I have _you_ for a partner."

"Doesn't sound like much of an achievement," Brienne retorts. 

"Oh, darling, it's an achievement to him," Olenna smiles.

Their first kiss happens right after they leave the building. It's chaste and gentle. Brienne tastes of water and tobacco. Jaime realises with painful clarity that he's idiotically in love and doesn't want to be anything else but Brienne's partner, husband, friend, whatever she chooses. He knows she won't hurt him, he knows she won't abuse him. If he's lucky, she'll love him one day. Jaime is ready to shovel elephant shit till the end of his days for it.

***

It's Tywin who opens the door. He looks a bit panicked, which is a first. 

"Hello, father," Jaime says and looks at Brienne. She's wearing a golden sleeveless top and the leather jacket of Jaime's naughtiest dreams. She doesn't wear make up, but she doesn't need to, why would she? Maybe just to kill Jaime on the spot…

Tywin looks her up and down. "Sorry. Ehm… you must be Brienne." 

"Oh, right, this is Brienne!" Jaime introduces. 

"You idiot," Brienne says, fond and exasperated. Tywin's eyes open wide - and he invites them in. 

He even tries to help Brienne out of her porn jacket. "I'm good, Mr Lannister," she says, moving away from Tywin with all the grace of an experienced fighter. 

"Tywin, please. And I'm sorry for presuming. What pronouns should I use?" 

Jaime stares at his father. "Who are you and what have you done with my father?"

"Tyrion gave me… a talk." Tywin grits his teeth. 

"I could spare Tyrion," Brienne says casually and… and she winks at Jaime. 

They enter the living room, luxurious and spacious and too much. Cersei is impeccable, her husband is drunk, the children are nowhere to be seen and Tyrion jumps to his feet when they enter.

"Since when are you doing the help's job, father dear?" Cersei asks. She sips her Martini. 

"Since when do _you_ decide what I should do?" Tywin says back. He's too calm to bark, but it is a bark. 

Jaime squeezes Brienne's hand. 

"My, my," Cersei gracefully walks over to Jaime and Brienne, eyeing her with displeasure. "So, you're this… Brian? Thingie… Are you even a woman?"

"I am not. My pronouns are she/her, though. And my name is Brienne."

"This is Cersei," Jaime says. He avoids looking at her, too afraid of the effect she's always had on him. 

"I gathered as much… hello," Brienne nods. Curt and precise. She's a lance, a spear end, his beautiful Brienne. Jaime decides that he's a brave man and looks up at his sister - and is hurt with the poison in her entire posture. 

"So, you're one of those… people who think they can rewrite biology?" Cersei says. "Robert, darling, can you hear it?" 

Tyrion looks scared, and so does Tywin, but they don't know what to do, even Tyrion.

"Buggers, the lot of you," Robert replies. 

"Hm," Brienne chuckles. "First, with all due disrespect, your knowledge of biology must be terribly flawed, Cersei. Secondly, _Robert,_ not all of us are buggers. Your brother Renly, for example, was a proud power bottom, and I'm very surprised your fierce wife doesn't peg you enough." She turns to Jaime, trembling with anger but defiant, brave, unashamed. "I'd like a beer."

"We don't have beer," Cersei seethes. 

"We do!" Tyrion says and rushes towards the kitchen, but Tywin stops him. 

"I need it too," he says. "With vodka."

"What did you think, brother, bringing… this into our house?" Cersei demands. 

"I thought that Brienne is my very significant other and that my family would be happy to meet her." Jaime can't breathe normally, but Brienne is holding his hand. 

"What is it even between your legs?" Cersei asks Brienne.

"You're short-sighted," Brienne replies unexpectedly. "Terribly short-sighted. I doubt you can drive, legally. All that distant look in your eyes… makes you look ethereal. But alas, your husband is a great fighter when it comes to destroying the lives of the disabled people, and since your skin is very fair and your makeup doesn't smell that strong, I take it you're allergic to a whole lot of things, including the contact lenses." She turns to Jaime, who's per usual gazing at her. "I do want that beer."

"Coming!" Tywin hands her a bottle. "I hope it's alright. Tyrion has a terrible taste." 

"I do not!" Tyrion protests. 

"It's beer, it will do," Brienne shrugs and gulps half the bottle. "Tyrion, you do have a terrible taste."

Tyrion just laughs. 

The lunch would have been horrible, but Brienne shoots down every remark Cersei makes and Robert is too drunk and shocked to make a complete sentence. Tywin and Tyrion, on the other hand, are doing their best to make Brienne feel wanted and welcome.

Brienne is delighted by the library, and when Tywin remarks that Jaime is too stupid to read, she shoots him down too.

"Your son is dyslexic. I understand that your attitudes towards disability are… insulting, to say the least, but you don't insult Jaime. Not on my watch." She wraps a protective arm around Jaime's shoulders. 

And when Tywin or Cersei say something about Tyrion's height, she shoots them down _again_ , witty and smart and merciless.

"That's some hopeless uneducated bunch," Brienne says when they are on their way back to Jaime's flat (Brienne has agreed to have a drink with Jaime at his place.) "Tyrion is sweet, though."

"I love you," Jaime blurts out. 

Brienne looks at him, blushing. "I think I love you too, Jaime."


	6. Chapter 6

"His family is terrible! Obnoxious! Hateful! Fuck!" Brienne is cursing and being her gorgeous furious self. "I'm sorry, Jaime, but I think you know it too, and…"

"I do know, Brienne. It's alright." Jaime takes her hand. Olenna eyes them.

"I protected him," Brienne says proudly. "I think so." She blushes. 

"Oh, you did, my beautiful warrior, you did." Jaime kisses her hand. 

"How did it make you feel, Jaime?" Olenna asks.

"Proud. Proud of Brienne and of myself. If I'm good enough for Brienne to protect, then I'm good." Jaime grins. At Brienne. "And safe. So fucking safe."

"I'll keep you safe," Brienne says tenderly and kisses Jaime's hand, then turns to Olenna. "We want to discuss sex."

"Wait, how did it make  _ you  _ feel, Brienne?" Olenna asks again. 

"Jaime is a good man. An honourable man. I'm here to protect him and take care of him. And… let him take care of me." She blushes, blushes, blushes, and Jaime loves her so much he can't breathe.

"Alright. And what about sex?"

"Never had any." 

"And I only had sex with my sister. We're not… I am unsure, no, uncertain… Ok, I'm fucking afraid of driving her off, of being terrible." Jaime blushes too. The only grounding thing is Brienne's hand in his. She's wearing a red tank top. She's so hot, literally, that she's finished a bottle of water during the first fifteen minutes of the meeting. Jaime catches himself thinking where the nearest gender neutral bathroom is. He loves her. She can pee all she likes, wherever she likes. Jaime didn't know whether women pee… 

"It's not a competition, or a must. Do you two want to have sex?"

"Yes!" Both reply and blush. 

"I don't know what I like," Brienne admits. "I hardly ever masturbate… Sorry, Jaime."

"No, no, I love you, shut up." Jaime looks at her and at her alone. She's everything, she's all and more than all, she's his entire world. 

"I… what if I'm… bad. What if you don't like me? When I'm naked and… not up to your expectations."

"And what if I'm not?" Jaime asks softly. "Why don't we just… be awkward and ridiculous?"

"This is a very healthy thing to say, Jaime," Olenna praises. 

"Oh, so I'm unhealthy!" 

"No, Brienne, you're scared. Jaime is a cismale. You're not."

"Fuck cismale! I want to pleasure Brienne and for her to be happy and… and with me. If you'll have me." He looks at Brienne. He never stopped. "I want you, Brienne.  _ You _ . Whatever you are."

Brienne groans and hides her face. 

"Love… no, no, love. I… you're perfect to me, ok? I'm scared too, I'm worried and I expect it to be… well, awkward. But I want you, I want you so much, Brienne."

"I want you too… we need to talk, we so need to talk!"

"We're talking, Brienne, we are." Jaime wants to hold her and kiss her and make her scream with pleasure. 

So they keep talking. They talk about Jaime's hand and how he's awkward when he undresses and Brienne holds his hand through it all, and she laughs when she finds his self-mocking remarks funny enough to honour them so, and she looks at him, those damn blue eyes, beaconing Jaime home - she is home, a new one, for sure, but a home. And they talk about Brienne being awkward with her height and everything else about her - and he rambles along about how hot she is towering over him when they spar. 

They leave Olenna red as cherries and they giggle like idiots. 

***

Cersei calls Jaime for the first time in forever when Jaime is still reeling from having Brienne in his flat, in his space… She's just left that sofa, scoffing over Jaime's offers to escort her back home. It's still warm.

And she's just left that glass on the coffee table, and it's still warm too, it has her smell and her taste, and Jaime doesn't want anything else, but it's Cersei. He has to resist, but there's a part of him that wants to gloat, wants to say that he's fine, he's happy. "Yes, Cersei."

"What was that, Jaime? What did you want to achieve with that… beast?"

Jaime closes his eyes - and he doesn't see Cersei, he doesn't miss her. 

"I love her," he says firmly. "I love her and you won't insult her. You can't insult her. She's braver than you've ever been. She'll protect me and shield me…"

"Oh, so you need a woman to protect you now!? You're pathetic!"

"She's not a woman. She's said as much."

"I'm not going to listen to that Frankenstein!" Cersei scoffs too. She has no right to do anything that Brienne does. Even if it's breathing. Jaime stops that train of thought and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"Frankenstein was the scientist, not the creature he made and abandoned. Brienne loves that book too. She wants to read it to me."

"Awww, brother, and you also need a mother to read to you too?" Cersei coos.

"How would  _ you  _ know? As far as I know you've never read to your children."

" _ Our  _ children!"

"You never allowed them near me!"

"Oh, don't be bitter, Jaime! You know why…"

He knows, he truly does, but it doesn't matter anymore. When he wanted her to run away with him, she refused. When she married that drunken idiot, he refused. He's done all he could have done and it wasn't enough, and then he almost killed a child, and now he has a partner he loves. Brienne, it's about Brienne, it's all about Brienne. 

"You're mine, brother, we both know it. That cow knows it," Cersei purrs into the phone. 

Jaime has to close his eyes and breathe. He's seen humanity at its lowest, most frightening, most inhuman, but  _ this  _ is far scarier, because he'd never know what to report, what to say. 

"Cows are beautiful and kind," he hears himself saying. "I see nothing insulting about being called a cow. I wish I could have been called a cow. You, sister, are insulting your yoghurt. Choke on it tomorrow, will you?"

Cersei begins to yell and plead and beg - and Jaime tosses the phone out of his extremely high window. He remembers Brienne's number, it's alright. 

He calls her from his landline. He spits everything out at her and then there's silence. 

"Brienne?"

"Yeah. You're dirty rich, right?" She asks.

"I am. Why?"

"Like, a private jet rich?"

"That can be arranged. Why? Where do you want to go?"

"San Francisco. It will have been morning there when we arrive, and we'll get you a new phone. I'll get you a new phone. It won't be very fancy but it will be ok. We'll watch the seals! Do you want to watch the seals?"

Jaime fucking yearns to watch the seals. And do every stupid tourist thing they can do in San Francisco. 

"Will you do stupid tourist shit with me, Brienne?"

"I sure will! I've never been there, and it will be early so we might start with the ocean and…"

Jaime listens to her, drowns in the feeling of safety and care. She loves him too. She won't hurt him. 

It takes some time for Jaime to figure out how the call his father without his phone, but a run downstairs and some fumbling with his laptop and SD card proves fruitful, and his father is ecstatic about Jaime wanting to show off, so by midnight he and Brienne board a private jet. 

Brienne falls asleep on his shoulder. Jaime watches the sun rise and rejoices in the thought of it having risen in California. 

They are about to have a great day! Brienne will drag him to a museum, for sure, but he gets to buy her some sunglasses - if she allows him… and they will eat and walk and be tired and fly back to New York. 

That's what money is for, Jaime thinks. To do mad harmless things while the love he's spent his life looking for in the wrong places is snoring softly on his shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

The day in San Francisco is fantastic. It's the best day ever, as far as Jaime is concerned. There's his new phone - he wanted something simple but Brienne reminds him how much he enjoys it when Tyrion sends him various kittens. And she admits, bashfully, that she likes it when Jaime sends her various kittens. Jaime vows to send her kittens all the time. 

Every food truck, every cafe, every time one of them caught a whiff of something they fancy - they eat through the day. And watch the seals. Jaime doesn't like the stench, Brienne doesn't notice the stench, Jaime worries about her sinuses, she laughs him off. 

They also kiss, a lot, at every fucking corner, every time they have to wait for the green light before crossing a street. 

"Are we going back to New York in the evening?" Brienne asks in the evening.

"If you want. What do you want?" Jaime caresses her face. She's wonderful, she's everything he wants to look at for the rest of his life and for some time after. 

"I want you, Jaime. Tonight. On either coast."

So they fly back to New York. Cersei tries to call him, because apparently everyone is spying on him, but he doesn't answer. 

***

When Brienne is naked in front of him, Jaime is sure he's having a panic attack, because the symptoms are the same, a bit. He can't breathe, can't look away, the world is swimming around him. 

"I'm the only one naked and you're having a panic attack." Brienne helps him with both, so the next time he's lucid, they lie down together, naked, pressed against each other, Brienne is playing with Jaime's hair. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers. 

"Bullshit. Deep breaths. And I love you."

He dozes off for the most of the night, but when he's fully awake, it's four in the morning. Brienne is watching him, concerned and caring. 

"Jaime, do you want to take your prosthetic off?" She asks gently.

"Would you like me to?"

"I don't care. It's up to you."

Jaime kisses her, lips, cheeks, nose, moves lower - to her long neck, to those freckles that cover her, she's so beautiful to him, she's so dear to him…

He wants to cover her in kisses - and he wants to bury his face between her thighs and pleasure her until the neighbours complain about her moans. Brienne  _ is  _ loud, she's loud and honest, she comes into Jaime's mouth so many times that Jaime proudly loses the count. 

And then he's inside her - which is… which is… Oh fuck it all, Jaime used to think that Cersei's body is the only one worth worship and love, Jaime doesn't like bodies very much - but he adores Brienne's body, the way that her body is her, not a vessel for schemes and envy and anger and bitterness. It's Brienne. She looks like this in this world, but Jaime would have loved her in any parallel universe - be she a pyramid, a cylinder, a beam of light… 

She softly turns his face so that he looks right at her (he's been lost in kissing her ear). 

"I love you. We're doing well.  _ You're _ doing so well. I love you."

They wake up sticky in the afternoon. Jaime is feeling mischievous, so he pours maple syrup all over Brienne and licks her clean. She's squirming and laughing, she's very ticklish, it turns out - and she's stronger than Jaime because in the end she turns them over, pours the remains of the damn syrup over Jaime and licks him clean too. Jaime isn't ticklish, at all, he just tries to breathe when Brienne peppers her sweet kisses all over him and takes him in her mouth - and tortures him until it's time to have dinner. They are ravenous. That must be the only reason why Brienne stops her onslaught of love and care. She's having  _ fun _ , Jaime is having fun, so much fun. He has never laughed during sex, Cersei would have found it offensive…

But Cersei can go and do whatever she wants. Jaime has Brienne.

It's very important to Jaime, that Brienne has him. 

***

Jaime makes a valiant effort to cook. Brienne is laughing at him so hard, her stomach hurts.

They walk out. Hold hands. Kiss all the time. Brienne is big and he's safe with her. 

They end up dragging a lot of groceries back to Jaime's flat. This time Brienne cooks. It's just salmon baked in the oven, with some vegetables and a serving of mashed potatoes. Brienne is very sexy when she's mashing the potatoes. She ignores Jaime's advances and they have a minor sparring session over it. 

"You behave!" She's threatening him with a potato masher and trying to stop laughing. "Then I might let you eat naked."

They eat fully clothed. Brienne is reading to him in between mouthfuls of food. 

"I want to stay another night. That ok?" Brienne asks when they finish doing the dishes. 

Jaime tugs her back to the bedroom, so that they can sleep properly, cuddling and snuggling. 


	8. Chapter 8

"We've had sex!" Jaime announces and beams. Brienne blushes but doesn't resist when Jaime takes her hand. She always sits on Jaime's left, so that he can hold her hand with his  _ real  _ one. Brienne doesn't think there's a  _ real  _ one, she has no trouble holding Jaime's prosthetic hand, always asking for his permission when she does so. 

"Congratulations!" Olenna exclaims. She doesn't seem to be sarcastic, which is something Jaime still gets used to. It's not that Olenna is always sarcastic, but Jaime, being himself a sarcastic arse, definitely expects the same level of sarcasm from someone as sassy as Dr Tyrell. 

"Tywin wants us to come over again. Dinner or something…" Brienne jumps straight ahead into trouble and Jaime loves her all the more for it, although his face falls. 

"A garden party. It's my birthday. And Cersei's, of course. He… he really likes Brienne. I can't blame him, but…"

***

"Bring your partner!" Tywin said, no, demanded on the phone. Jaime has a new number, he has no idea how paranoid he has to get so that his relatives leave him alone. 

"It… didn't go so well," Jaime reminded. 

"It went marvelously well!"

"Which part of queerphobic language do I need to explain to you so that you understand?" Jaime could demand too. 

"I understood it all perfectly. If they insult Brienne again, there will be consequences." Tywin can be menacing, very much so, but Jaime almost froze, hearing his father's voice oozing with fury. 

***

"So, your father approves of you." Olenna nods. "How does it feel?"

"Fuck him! He's never approved of me… but he approves of Brienne which means he's not a complete idiot!" Jaime beams again, gazing at his beautiful love, fierce and protective. 

"Indeed," Olenna replies seriously. "Brienne, your thoughts?"

"Gonna kick their arses again. There will be consequences… painful ones." She is serene, her anger is righteous. She's a knight, a true, proper knight, like those Tyrion used to read to Jaime about, like those Brienne reads to him about now, like Jaime himself used to aspire to be… And Brienne considers him worthy of her protection. And love. 

"How did you deal with it the last time?" Olenna asks. 

Brienne can't really boast about herself, but Jaime can and will boast about her, so he retells the glory of Brienne's sass. 

"I'm proud of you," Olenna begins. 

"I didn't even punch anything until a couple of days later… we boxed." Brienne nods at Jaime. 

"Not a euphemism," Jaime hastily says. 

***

It's a garden party, and no, Cersei's bootlickers, sycophants and the likes are not invited, because it's a family affair. 

Tywin is surprisingly soft with Tyrion. He glares at Jaime and Cersei, alright, but he fetches Brienne her beer and fruity cocktails and ice cream and sandwiches and dotes on her so much that Jaime makes a mental note to talk to Olenna about being very jealous of his own father. He remembers the dick-sucking Freud and calms down a bit. 

Cersei can't say a word. Her husband is drunk. Her children are enjoying the pool and are not interested in anything else. Joffrey does try to torture a lizard he has happened to catch, but Brienne stops him - sternly - and explains him a lot about the lizards. Tywin and Tyrion and Robert and most importantly, Joffrey can't help listening to her. 

Then Brienne offers to teach Joffrey how to throw a punch but only under the condition that he never uses it against a living thing. Joffrey, the sadistic little shit that he is, reluctantly agrees. He doesn't even cross his fingers. 

In short, the atmosphere is almost pleasant, Jaime lets his guard down. Dozes off…

And he startles awake when he hears his sister hissing at Brienne. 

Tywin and Tyrion are in the pool with children. And Robert is drunk. And Brienne drinks her beer and doesn't mind being molested… Jaime tries to get to his feet and rush towards Brienne who's sitting a mere foot away…

"I once made him push a child off the roof for me. And he did. You think you can inspire the same kind of loyalty in him?" Jaime hears.

Brienne, his sweet Brienne, takes a sip of her beer. "First, I wouldn't ever ask for such a thing. That's not loyalty. Second, my beer is warm and you're a cold-hearted bitch." And with that, Brienne pours her beer over Cersei's hair.

Cersei yells. And screams. And looks at her father and husband and brother. No one cares much.


	9. Chapter 9

Jaime is sitting in front of Tywin and Tyrion. It's a strange feeling, to see his father and brother not just getting along, but sitting next to each other and exchanging meaningful looks. 

"Is it about Cersei?" Jaime asks carefully. He looks at his watch. He wants to be boxing with Brienne or eating with Brienne or going down on Brienne… 

"Cersei? Why? Don't live up to her ambitions of being the sole reason for everything." Tiryon drinks some of his… whatever it is he's drinking at eleven in the morning. 

"My daughter will do as she's told," Tywin says. 

"And when was that? I might have little love for her, but she's kinda forty. Let her screw it all on her own. We know you can screw shit magnificently, now it's her turn." Tyrion shakes his head. He might be the only grownup here, but he's drinking something suspicious at eleven in the morning.

Jaime takes a deep breath, getting ready to defend his brother from their father's anger, but no anger comes. Tywin looks at his hands on the table and sighs.

"What are your intentions towards Brienne?" Tywin asks. 

Jaime is about to blurt out that his intention right now is to get back to Brienne and enjoy their early retirement. They might go for a walk. They might go to a museum. They might keep moving Brienne's things to Jaime's flat. They might continue searching for a dog, because Brienne wants a dog, preferably something huge and with a difficult story. She's a saviour, his Brienne. She has so much love and so much strength… 

"Don't say what you're about to say," Tyrion warns. 

"What was he going to say?" Tywin asks. 

"Nothing. Say  _ your  _ piece, father."

Jaime doesn't know what's happening. The main problem seems to be that he's not with Brienne. 

Tywin slides a small box across the table. Jaime opens it. 

It's his mother's engagement ring. Jaime wants to cry and talk to Olenna. 

"I… it has to belong to you, to Brienne, that is." Tywin is a calm and serene man. His most frequently experienced emotion is that of general disdain towards just about everyone he sees. Or meets. Or has had the displeasure and misfortune of knowing. 

"I can't… I… we've been together for a short time, and… what if she doesn't… and…" Jaime wants to talk to Olenna. Olenna has to be with him at all times, especially when his bloody relatives are involved. 

"When you know, you know," Tyrion says wisely and downs his drink. Well, it's true, he drinks and knows things, but it's a bit too much even for Jaime's taste. 

***

"Your father insists you get married?" Olenna asks. Jaime has just unloaded his entire interaction with his father and brother on her and he's more than a little frantic. 

"No, he doesn't insist, for once. But he wants me to have my mother's engagement ring and to use it to propose to Brienne. I'm not sure I want to propose. I didn't think about it! We're… happy. I want the rest of my life with Brienne, and maybe she does too, I can ask her, but I'm kind of afraid of asking because what if she says no? But she's moved in with me and we're getting a dog."

"Sounds like a commitment to me," Olenna shrugs, but pensively. 

"Why should I… I don't want to bring more emotional baggage into our relationship. What should I say? Hey babe, here's my mother's ring, she died giving birth to my brother, and it made me think of you?"

"If you put it like that…" Olenna ponders. "But as far as I can tell, to you this ring means getting back into the mess you've just come out of. Tying one of the best things in your life to something you're striving to get away from."

"Yes. Yes, this is it! Precisely."

"So… you don't need this ring. Perhaps your father wants to see the happiness he once had reflected in you, but from what you've told me, your mother was a very traditional woman, and Brienne isn't traditional, nor is she a woman." Olenna smiled. "Live your life, Jaime. You've got plenty of stuff you desperately want to get rid off, and that ring is more like a stone around your neck."

***

Brienne is sitting on  _ their  _ sofa, watching  _ their  _ TV. Finally, Jaime doesn't need to deny that he likes period romances and endless sitcoms. Brienne likes them too. Brienne doesn't think she needs to justify her taste, but if asked, she'd give a perfect explanation. She'd say that life is grim and hopeless enough and she wants to see something else. 

Jaime sits next to her. Brienne offers him a dumpling, absent-mindedly. Jaime eats it.

"Dad gave me my mother's ring so that I could propose to you. Is it the kind of romance you'd want?" Jaime asks.

"No, I don't think so," Brienne replies, but only after Mr Darcy makes a fool of himself thoroughly. "This is romantic enough. You, me, sofa, dumplings."

"Will you stay, though?" Jaime asks again.

"Well, I've just moved in with you. We'll see…" She offers him another dumpling. Jaime eats this one as well. They will see, he thinks, they will see and figure it out. No rings and no chains and no useless signs of their connection. A dumpling is a more fitting gesture for them. There's just one ring, but dumplings, they can eat thousands of them and share them all. 


End file.
